


Laughing All the Way

by elynross



Category: The Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-24
Updated: 2003-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elynross/pseuds/elynross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darien knows something Bobby doesn't, but wait until Bobby finds out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughing All the Way

**Author's Note:**

> Written for shalott

 

 

Darien managed to ignore the thumping for about ten minutes before pulling his head out from under his pillow to stare blankly at the clock. Nine a.m. wasn't that early, until you factored in the three o'clock collapse into bed following last night's departmental Christmas party. 

Whatever the noise had been, it was gone. He flopped back into his pillow, blinking sleepily. From what he'd heard of government types, the whole thing should have been a huge flop, but there must be stories not intended for public consumption -- literally. He and Eberts'd had a hell of a drunken talk about where in the budget they might be hiding the expenses for booze and food -- not to mention the burro. He couldn't figure out why the party had had a Mexican theme, but he was betting on a package deal. He could also vaguely recall finding Eberts strangely fascinating, and that was disturbing. 

The thumps started up again, and he finally recognized them as pounding on his door. "All right, I'm coming!" He hauled himself out of bed and snagged an old pair of jeans, pulling them on and buttoning them as he went. 

Hobbes was getting ready to knock again as Darien opened the door. He had a gift-wrapped package in his other hand. 

"Hobbes." Darien yawned, sliding his hand through his sleep-ruffled hair. "Hey, man, what's up? We got a job? I thought the Official said we were furloughed until the New Year." 

Hobbes cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, I guess something came up." 

Darien rolled his eyes. "Doesn't it always?" He stepped back, indicating the messy room with a flourish. Hobbes stepped into the room, clearing his throat, eyes skimming past Darien's naked chest. Darien grinned at his embarrassment, amused when running his hand over his chest drew Hobbes's eyes. The poor guy really needed to relax -- or something. He nodded at the package. "That for me?" 

"Yeah, I, uh, forgot it last night, so I brought it along today." He shoved it in Darien's hand. "Merry Christmas." 

Darien flopped down on a chair, already pulling at the paper. "Thanks, Hobbes, you didn't have to do this." 

Hobbes shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's what friends do, right?" 

Darien looked at him. "I feel bad, I didn't get you anything. I'm not really good at Christmas." 

Hobbes shrugged again, but Darien could see a new tension. "Nah, no big deal, my friend. Gift freely given, no strings. Go on, open it." 

Darien sat up and finished unwrapping the package to find an elegant watch, silver, sleek, and expensive. He stared at it, then back up at Hobbes. 

"I, uh. This friend of mine. He had." Hobbes stuck his hands in his pockets. "It's not much, really." 

Darien stood up and pulled Hobbes close. "No, it really is. Thank you. It means a lot." He let go, and it took Hobbes a moment to pull back. Darien could feel the heat of his body, smell his cologne. It smelled good. 

"Uh, hey, that isn't the only reason I'm here. Eberts called me -- said they couldn't get through to you. They have an emergency job for us." He coughed, rocking on his heels. 

"What happened to the furloughs? I thought we were cost-cutting for the holidays." 

"Yeah, well, apparently we're the only ones available." 

"Since when?" 

"Since everybody else ate the shrimp dip at the party last night." Hobbes had refused to touch it, and he hadn't let Darien try it, either. 

"Food poisoning?" 

"Maybe." 

Darien looked at him. "Why would anyone try and poison the envelope?" Since October, they'd supposedly been working under NVLAP, aka "the envelope" in Darien's mind: the National Voluntary Laboratory Accreditation Program. It was a sub-program of a sub-program of an offshoot of a department, and Hobbes felt the humiliation of it. It had become his new refrain, temporarily added to his salary complaints. The Official didn't pay any more attention than before, simply saying things like "All in good time, boys. Now get to work!" Darien didn't care so much, since his self-image as a blackmailed freakazoid wasn't that dependent on what people saw on his business card. "And what kind of emergency needs the lab rats?" 

"Eberts didn't get that far, told me to find you and bring you in with me. Something about consultations that have to be done before the end of the year." 

Darien slipped on the watch, enjoying the weight of it. It wasn't the type of thing he'd expect from Hobbes, who never seemed too concerned with appearances. It suited him perfectly, but it wasn't the type of thing he'd expect from Hobbes. It was...touching. 

He looked up and watched Hobbes pace around the room, eyes nervously ranging over at Darien every so often, in a weirdly familiar way. Darien leaned back a little, watching, hazily remembering the night before, and the accidental convergence of himself, a pert little secretary, and Hobbes in the coat room. Hobbes had stumbled over them and nearly killed them all trying to stumble back out, apologizing profusely, covering his eyes, which didn't help with the getting out. At the time Darien had assumed that the quick peeks out from his fingers were directed at his curvaceous companion. But now there were no curves in sight, and yet Hobbes was behaving like a man confronted with... 

Bobby looked him over again, then went back to studying Darien's housekeeping. Well. Darien blinked. What if Bobby wasn't looking because he wanted to look? The thought lit a small fire in his belly. He stood, stretching his arms up towards the ceiling. "So, okay, we have to go in? That's probably a good idea. I want to check in with the Keeper." He injected a note of worry into his voice, and Hobbes pounced. 

"What? What's wrong?" 

Darien shook his head, frowning. "It's nothing, Hobbes. I'm sure it's nothing." 

Hobbes came closer, peering at him worriedly. "You don't wanna take any risks with the gland, Fawkes. What's going on?" 

"It's nothing! Just..." 

"What?" Hobbes's apparent nervousness was gone, replaced by an intent concern, and Darien almost felt bad. 

"I'm just...having a little trouble." 

Hobbes looked him up and down critically. "What kind of trouble?" He stepped in and grabbed Darien's jaw, tilting his head into the light so he could look at his eyes. The spread of his hand was warm against Darien's chin. "I don't see any red." He looked serious. "Tell me what it is, Fawkes. Whatever it is, we'll deal with it. That's what partners do." 

"Well...look." Darien held out his hand, palm up, hoping Hobbes hadn't been paying too much attention while Darien opened his gift. He now appeared to be missing a significant portion of the base of his thumb. "It was like that when I woke up this morning. And last night..." 

Hobbes looked up from Darien's hand, which he was holding in both of his. "What about last night?" 

"That secretary, you know?" 

The tips of Hobbes's ears turned pink, and it was all Darien could do to contain a grin that felt positively wolfish. "Yeah, what about her." Hobbes looked back down at Darien's hand, poking at the invisible portion experimentally. 

"Well, after you left..." 

"Yeah?" Hobbes sounded determinedly nonchalant, but he still hadn't let go of Darien's hand. 

"Well, at one point..." Hobbes looked up at him, frowning. "I grabbed hold of a coat above us, and it started to disappear. Without my trying to do it," he clarified. Darien stepped in closer, dropping his voice. "Hobbes -- what if it happens to me?" 

Hobbes's frown deepened. "What?" 

"What if... I disappear. Completely. Like Arnaud." 

Hobbes shook his head. "That won't happen, Fawkes." 

Darien felt that flicker that was almost guilt again. "How can you be so sure?" 

Hobbes reached up and clasped Darien's shoulder. "I'm sure. I won't let you disappear." 

Heat shivered up and down Darien's spine from the place where Hobbes's fingers rested. He almost came clean then, hoping Bobby would forgive him. Instead, Darien leaned into his hand a little. "Thanks, Hobbes. Partners, right?" He looked straight into Hobbes's eyes, and saw them flare a little. 

The first time Hobbes tried to speak, nothing came out, and when he managed it, his voice was hoarse. "Partners, Fawkes." 

Darien smiled brilliantly. "Okay. Let me clean up, and I'll be right with you." He started unbuttoning his jeans as he turned away, and he heard the catch of breath behind him. Oh, yeah. Hobbes'd forgive him. He just wanted him a little worried, a little protective. Enough to keep him close and attentive. 

He stopped just inside the door of the bathroom and stripped the jeans off, turning to toss them out on the bed, cock aching a little as it stood at half-mast. He slanted a hidden glance at Hobbes, whose eyes weren't aimed anywhere high enough to catch Darien's look. He grinned and turned, opening the shower door and bending to turn it on. He heard Hobbes moving in the other room, and he wondered if it was away from the door, or closer to it. "Why don't you make some coffee? It's in the cupboard right over the pot." 

"Yeah, okay. You got it, buddy." 

His voice made Darien suspect that he hadn't moved very far away at all. He took off the watch, looking at it and smiling, before putting it safely on the counter. The water was still cool when he stepped under the shower, but it quickly heated up. Picking up the soap, he cleaned himself briskly, listening to Hobbes opening cupboards, pouring water. He worked up a lather, rubbing it across his chest and belly as he heard Hobbes heading back towards the bathroom. 

"Hey, don't be too long, Fawkes. We don't want to waste any time." 

"What's that? I can't hear you." He put the soap down and put a hand on the top of the shower wall, closing his eyes. He couldn't see it, but he knew that the sliding door shimmered and disappeared in a silvery wave. With his other hand he continued stroking over his stomach, down to his cock, hard and full. He kept his breathing even and quiet. 

When Hobbes spoke again, he must have been right outside the door. "I said, don't take too long. We need to get you in to the Keep." 

Darien felt that wolfish smile on his face. "I still can't hear you, man. C'mon in, I won't bite." He turned slightly so that he was facing towards the door, and continued soaping himself rhythmically. He could tell exactly when Hobbes stepped into the doorway. 

"We really should--" 

Darien stroked himself again, slowly, one, two, three times, waiting for Hobbes to say something, or decide to leave. When neither happened, he opened his eyes. Hobbes stood in the doorway, his face flushed red, his eyes fastened on Darien and his stroking hand. His gaze was almost a physical thing, and it acted on Darien almost like Quicksilver, shivering over and through him, but instead of invisible, he felt thoroughly _seen_. He kept stroking, his breath roughening, watching Hobbes watching him. Stroke after stroke after stroke, kept even by sheer force of will, legs braced, thighs trembling, before Hobbes raised his eyes to meet Darien's. 

"I--" Hobbes took a deep breath and started turning away. "I'm sorry, Fawkes, it's--" 

"Bobby." Hobbes stopped, but didn't say anything. 

"You like watching, Bobby?" Darien saw Hobbes's shoulders stiffen. 

"Are you playing with me, Fawkes?" There was a gravelly undertone to his words. 

Darien grinned more widely. "Not yet, man." He stopped touching himself as Bobby turned around, slowly, but kept one hand circling on his stomach, washing off the soap in the spray while he opened the shower door with the other, its quicksilvering quickly fading. 

Mingled suspicion and desire warred on Bobby's face as he watched Darien step out of the shower, but he held his ground. "What's going on, Fawkes?" 

"I lied." He stepped closer, skimming some of the water off his skin with one hand. "There's nothing wrong with me." 

Hobbes held his eyes for a beat, then the suspicion faded and he let his eyes drop, very deliberately. "I dunno about that, buddy. I'm no doctor, but it seems to me you have some swelling." 

Darien grinned again. "Yeah, maybe I need somebody to take a look at it." 

Hobbes looked back up, his body looser, his eyes dark. "You still want me to take you to the Keep? Maybe she can put some cold compresses on it." He stepped forward. 

Darien shivered at the look in his eyes and stepped back against the shower door. "No, I don't think that's where I want you to take me, Bobby." 

He knew Bobby could move fast, but he wasn't prepared for him to move in so tight, so suddenly, one forearm pressing Darien back against the glass while the other encircled his cock and balls, pulling them up firmly. Hobbes grinned his own wolfish grin at the strangled noise that came out of Darien's mouth. 

"It's not nice to play tricks on your partner, Fawkes. It's not nice at all." Hobbes squeezed his hand a little tighter, and Darien gasped. "And you want me to be nice, don't you?" 

Darien could feel Hobbes against his thigh, hot and hard. He nodded, closing his eyes and resting his head back against the glass. 

"I can't hear you, Fawkes. What was that? Did you want to say something? Cat got your tongue?" He shifted his grip on Darien's cock so the backs of his fingers brushed along Darien's belly as he started stroking, traces of soap aiding the easy slide of his hand, squeezing the tip briefly before sliding back down, the circle of his hand hot and tight. "So, tell me, where do you want me to take you?" 

Darien shuddered at the dark tone in his voice, gasping breathlessly. "God, Bobby, I-- Anywhere. Whatever you want." He jerked suddenly as Bobby's other hand drifted across the sensitive skin of his side. "Hey, watch it--" His eyes snapped open as he was convulsively caught between thrusting into the tight circle of Bobby's hand and trying to get away from the agile fingers that were maniacally seeking out his most ticklish spots. He struggled, not really wanting to escape, increasingly turned on and giggling helplessly. He quickly ended up on the floor, and Bobby followed him down, grinning wildly, keeping up the stroking rhythm of one hand and the tickling jabs of the other, until Darien was a twitching, messy heap, jerking as Bobby stroked the last throes of orgasm out of him, wiggling to evade the last light, ticklish touches on oversensitive skin. 

Bobby's hand finally gentled, stroking more firmly along his stomach and side. For a long time there was silence, Darien was lying across Bobby's lap, while Bobby himself leaned back against the cupboard under the sink, looking down with dark, tender eyes. 

Darien didn't know what to say, could hardly think. Instead he cupped his hand over Bobby's, stilling it. "And here I thought it was just gonna be another crappy holiday." He squeezed Bobby's hand, then released it. 

Bobby brushed Darien's hair back from his forehead, then let his hand rest on Darien's shoulder. "Bobby Hobbes never disappoints, my friend. You should know that." 

"Yeah, I should, shouldn't I?" He grinned. "Merry Christmas, Bobby." 

Bobby looked at him a moment, intently, almost to the point of awkwardness. Then he smiled and punched Darien's shoulder lightly. "What, you think you're some kind of gift, Fawkes?" He shook his head. "I don't know about a gift like that. What if I want to return it? Think anybody'd take it in this condition?" He ran his hand down Darien's arm and across one messy thigh. 

Darien stretched, arching over Bobby's leg. He wondered if he'd always find being tickled such a weirdly erotic experience from now on. "I think we can figure something out." He held up his hand and Bobby did the same, slapping fingertips, then backs of hands, ending with their hands tangled together on Darien's chest. 

<<<>>>

The briefing was a complete disaster. Hobbes and Fawkes turned up unforgivably late, with mutually goofy smiles that made the Official very uneasy. He tried to brief them properly, but Hobbes kept inexplicably poking Fawkes every few minutes, grinning like a fool when Fawkes batted his hands away with his own ridiculous smile. The Official kept glancing at Eberts, who cleared his throat, but would never quite meet his gaze. Finally he gave up altogether and dismissed them to be getting on with it, figuring it was holiday giddiness, somehow related to that disaster of a Christmas party. Fortunately, he didn't have to figure out where to hide _those_ expenses, and he didn't want to know how the burro had ended up in the coat room. 

His agents continued their squabbling as they left the room. "You were _so_ giggling!" 

"I was not!" 

"Were too!" 

"Was not!" 

The Official looked at Eberts. "Eberts, what are they talking about?" 

Ebert's pursed his mouth. "I couldn't tell you, sir." 

"Do I want--" 

"Oh, I would very much doubt it, sir." They both looked back at the door, listening as the voices faded don't the hall. 

"Were." 

"Weren't!" 

"Bet I can prove it." 

At the yelp of laughter, Eberts and the Official looked at each other. Then the Official turned back to his report, while Eberts started tidying the file folders on the desk. 

The Official put down his pen and turned back to Eberts. "Are you sure I shouldn't--" 

"No, sir. I think it's best we not know. " 

They ignored the faint sounds of giggling. 

 


End file.
